There have been many moments in my parenting life when I have been gripped with that icy terror that comes from being a whisker away from something going horribly wrong. Afterwards I have laughed, still shaking, and said: ‘There but for the grace of God.’When Annie, aged three, pulled off her arm bands in a packed hotel swimming pool in Spain and then flung herself in at the deep end, for example. Or, a few years later, when Monty, then five, gangly and uncoordinated, leapt on to a sea wall and teetered alarmingly; the drop on the other side was about 30 metres onto rocks.Most mothers have had similarly heart-stopping reminders that the most precious people in their world might be snatched away in an instant. So we hold their hands a little tighter, yell at them to look before jumping and fork out for another term of costly swimming lessons.But there is another, less obvious danger that can topple a happy family. And it’s rarely on our parental radar.I refer to social services and the threat of having your children removed from your care.Oh, that will never happen to me, you assume. But it can take just one, sinister phone call from a vindictive acquaintance – or total stranger, if you share details about family life on social media – to alert their attention. Nine years ago I was reported to social services after allegations were made that my youngest daughter, Dolly, bottom left, was ‘at risk in the family home’ (Photo taken in 2012)Kirstie Allsopp knows all about this. Last week, she was reported to social services by a ‘concerned’ member of the public (anonymous, of course) who was alleging neglect of her 15-year-old son, Oscar. Her crime? She had allowed him to go interrailing around Europe with a friend on what sounded like an incredible adventure for three weeks.Kirstie was ‘incandescent’ when the social worker demanded to know what ‘safeguards’ had been put in place for Oscar to be allowed to travel on the continent without adult supervision.And I can fully empathise. Nine years ago, I felt overwhelming shock, nausea and later fury, when I too was reported to social services after an ‘anonymous member of the public’ made ‘extremely serious’ allegations that my youngest daughter, Dolly, then five, was ‘at risk in the family home’.The call from social services came out of the blue and felt like a poisonous arrow aimed right at the heart of our contented family life. I can remember holding the phone and hearing the words but not being able to comprehend what was being said to me.When a bombshell explodes like this, it can take a moment or two for the brain to catch up. For a split second I felt suspended in a bubble of incomprehension. Nothing the worker was saying made any sense and yet still she kept talking, advising me she was about to read out the list of complaints.’You, the mother, abuse alcohol and often leave Dolly at home, alone, while you get drunk in the pub. Dolly is constantly exposed to inappropriate behaviour from her older siblings. Your 16-year-old daughter is promiscuous, drinks and takes drugs.’And then the most ludicrous one of all, ‘On Christmas Day, your children were forced to eat kebabs for lunch.’ Last week, Kirstie Allsopp was reported to social services after allowing her 15-year-old son, Oscar, to go interrailing around Europe with a friend As the fog of disbelief lifted, anger crept in. Who had reported such unbelievable nonsense? We had eaten homemade kebabs for Christmas lunch, but only because that’s our favourite family meal and no one likes turkey.In fact it was this particular allegation that eventually led me to identify who had reported us. Unbelievably it was an embittered, jealous mother from my very own social circle (aren’t they always the worst?). I knew this because I later spent hours piecing together who I’d told what to. And I worked out she was the only person who had some knowledge of every single allegation.Not that social services would confirm or deny her identity.In fact, they urged me to get back to the business of defending my mothering skills or else my five-year-old daughter might be removed from my care.Of course, these weren’t their exact words, but they made it scarily clear that Dolly would be taken away if I couldn’t defend my actions. This was a very real threat and it was happening to me whether I liked it or not.Like TV presenter Kirstie, I am honest and opinionated on social media. I have always worn my heart on my sleeve when it comes to family life and my shortcomings as a mother. I am not afraid to confess when I get things wrong and to reveal the often chaotic rollercoaster that has been the reality of raising four human beings.And it was being similarly candid that got Kirstie into trouble. Once her son was safely home and she had put the contents of his rucksack through a 90-degree wash, she shared details of his journey on X, formerly Twitter, proudly declaring: ‘If we’re afraid, our children will also be afraid. If we let go, they will fly.’That’s when someone took it on themselves to report her for neglect. Social services launched an investigation and everyone waded into the social media fray to criticise – or defend – her ability to make her own decisions about mothering her son.Being too open was my biggest mistake. In 2013, before the complaint, we had relocated as a family, (God knows why, but that’s another story), from commuter belt Surrey to a parochial backwater in North Devon. Flo, was 15, Annie, 13, Monty, 11, and Dolly just four.To say this move was a hugely regrettable upheaval would be a massive understatement. Flo absolutely hated her new school, resented us for dragging her from civilisation to rural isolation and was generally railing against the system and everybody in it. Being too open was my biggest mistake. I’m a parent first but I’m also a journalist who turns my experiences into copy (Shona with her children and dogs in 2021)I found some comfort in charting the ups and downs of navigating our new life in a small town where nobody seemed to like us and my children were struggling to fit in. It helped me cope with the enormity of the mistake I’d made.I talked to other mothers at the school who I didn’t know very well and who, with hindsight, were clearly judging me. It didn’t help that Flo was behaving like a total psycho, getting drunk at parties, being excluded from school and generally putting my mothering skills under the spotlight.Probably, I should have kept our dramas behind closed family doors. But that’s never been my way. I’m a parent first but I’m also a journalist who turns my experiences into copy. I’ve always, perhaps naively, thought it might help other mothers feel less alone and maybe comforted that someone else is getting stuff wrong.And then came the phone call. It’s hard to describe the icy terror that descended in that moment.When they asked for my permission to contact a number of agencies – the police, the children’s school, our GP surgery – to perform a thorough investigation into our family, in utter panic I refused.The allegations that had been levelled against me were a mix of total fantasy and some distorted truth – borne out of children gossiping at school, me oversharing at the school gates and writing newspaper articles – that had been wildly over exaggerated and twisted. I wouldn’t lower myself by responding.This, however, was not a wise move. ‘If you refuse to co-operate we will have to launch our own enquiry which will involve interviewing each of your children,’ the social worker explained. What she didn’t say, but which hung heavily in the air, was the fact that if I was innocent, then I should have no reason not to agree. The onus was very much on me to play ball.And so I requested 24 hours to think about our position.That night I lay awake agonising that I had given the wrong impression over the phone. Had I been too aggressive or sounded too over-wrought? Might the social worker think the lady doth protest too much? It occurred to me that whoever had made the complaint wanted to harm my family to the extent they were prepared to have Dolly forcibly removed from a loving home. Now that takes a seriously malicious person.Of course, social services need to investigate tip-offs from the public to ensure children are properly safeguarded.And terrifying as it is to be on the receiving end of an anonymous report, I also understand the logic in letting people who make one hide behind anonymity.But the problem is that this surely throws the doors wide open for any small-minded individual with a personal vendetta to waste social services’ valuable time.Kirstie’s experience sparked accusations of a nanny state and threw a spotlight on how councils can be hoodwinked into opening probes into neglect on the basis of ‘vexatious’ complaints. Just two months ago, I allowed Dolly (left), now 14, to fly to Dubai alone to surprise my husband Keith, who lives and works there, for Father’s DayDame Karen Bradley, a Tory MP and the mother of sons aged 18 and 20, said: ‘It seems like the worst kind of box-ticking and a waste of effort and time by council officials who should be focused on children who are at genuine risk.’I couldn’t agree more. After a fortnight of being investigated – which involved social services calling all the agencies previously mentioned and raking through our personal details – our case was unceremoniously closed with a letter stating that no further action would be taken.At that point I got straight on the phone to the council to demand answers. How could this be allowed to happen? I was told they receive approximately 1,400 enquiries each month, many of which are vendetta calls, and all have to be given due consideration.This must surely strike fear into the heart of any mother who is juggling a hundred balls and muddling through trying to do her best.Anyone can make a referral to social services if they believe a child to be at risk. And that person could be a cowardly, interfering individual who just wants to cause trouble. It is then up to the social worker and their line manager to decide what action should be taken.People ask me whether what happened to me has forced me to change the way I parent, to take a more neurotic approach – perhaps tagging my children and curtailing their liberty? To which I generally snort and roll my eyes.Just two months ago, I allowed Dolly, now 14, to fly to Dubai alone to surprise my husband Keith, who lives and works there, for Father’s Day.She had to change planes and, as it happened, terminals, at Doha airport in Qatar, all without help from an adult.She called me at 2am, in transit, asking if she could buy a burger from the most expensive Burger King on the planet. Afterwards she told me it had been the best journey of her life so far.So we carry on exactly the same as before. I’m just much more careful who I tell about it.